I'm convinced I was born with wanderlust in my veins.
We have moved countless times in our lifetime but we have lived in this house for six years and this place for seven now. And I'm restless.
I've been restless other times over the years living here. It's the longest, by far, that we've ever lived in one place, in one house since we were married well over 11 years ago. So it stands to reason if I have wanderlust in me that I would get restless. But this winter it's really getting to me. It has off and on over the years and eventually it subsides for a time but I just feel more restless than usual this winter. And I can't seem to shake it.
I love moving. I love the thrill of living in a new area with new places to explore. A new house. New surroundings. But I hate the job of moving. We've always packed and moved everything ourselves and it's just way too much work to think about doing it again. And it won't happen again until we've majorly downsized. (Another one of my 'lifetime projects': purging.)
I feel like we're pretty 'settled' where we are on this land. In this house. And who knows maybe some day down the road we'll move again. But if we did, it probably wouldn't be far. We would stay in this area. We kind of like it up here in the north woods of Minnesota.
I've been doing a lot of thinking and contemplating about it all lately and I think the biggest solution to this problem is to start traveling. Here is hoping we'll get Alba the Argosy up and running this year... and a new (old) vehicle to pull her with so we can start exploring! I'm more than ready.